


Missing You

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Episode Related, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-26
Updated: 2003-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-27 02:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian's feelings during and immedietly after the opening scene of 302.





	Missing You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

All I can think is Justin, Justin; you’re back here with me where you should be. I can feel my cock pounding into his hole, making up for the time we spent apart. The table rocks and thuds with our rhythm, the way it was always supposed to. I can hear him, his moans and gasps like syrup, trickling over me, sticking me down. He is the one I’m supposed to be with. The only one. I feel a hand grab at my hair and squeeze as I make them cum. But the magic is over. Justin doesn’t do that. He usually screams my name, and the silence now is deafening. I orgasm emptily. It doesn’t mean anything without him. I hear the trick on the table panting, and suddenly want nothing more than to be alone. His legs are up on my shoulders and I feel as if they are burning me. 

“That was one of my top ten fucks” he says with avid fervour. 

“Yeah.” I say non-committally. “You were one of my top ten-thousand.” I stumble away from him hastily pulling up my trousers and doing them up. I hear the trick laugh behind me. 

“I shot buckets,” he declared, as if it was something that I would be remotely interested in. “Mind if I use your shower?” Him? In my shower? I don’t think so. 

“Wear it home proud,” I reply, just wishing to god that he’d fuck off. “I’m busy.” There is a momentarily stunned silence. 

“What, you’re kicking me out?” You were never here to begin with, I think. Your hair wasn’t dark, you didn’t have that ridiculous bit of muff on your chin, and you weren’t some drooling little twink who rated my performance before I had even removed my cock from your arse. You were Justin, my blonde boy-wonder, who had returned from his brief disillusionment full of recompense. 

“Why are the best fucks always the biggest jerks?” he muttered audibly and resentfully. I heard him snatch his coat and didn’t bother to glance round as he strode towards the door. Just keep on going, going, gone. Like Justin. 

Why the hell can’t I get him out of my head? What is it with him? He’s too young for me for a start, he’s proud to the point of arrogance, and most of all, he tried to house-train me, telling himself that one day I would be able to settle with him and we could marry like the lesbians. I look around miserably at the empty loft. The expensive furniture, the expensive telly, the expensive everything. But the loft looks like a pauper’s cardboard box without Justin in it. I heave a morbid, heavy sigh, and start towards the bathroom, hoping with some absurd notion that maybe the water, pelting down hot, and unrestrained on my bare skin, will be able to wash away the broken shards of my useless heart.


End file.
